Love Is A Virtue; It Grows Stronger

By The Power Of Truth, I, While Living, Have Conquered The Universe.

Genuine Recollections Almost Invariably Explain Oneself To Oneself. Suppose, For Example, That You Feel An Instinctive Aversion To Some Particular Kind Of Wine. Try As You Will, You Can Find No Reason For It. Suppose When You Explore A Previous Incarnation, You Remember You Died By A Poisoned Administered In A Wine Of That Kind, Your Aversion Is Explained By The Proverb: 'a Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.'

The Gods Are But Names For The Forces Of Nature Themselves.

They Look For A Victim To Chivy, And Howl Him Down, And Finally Lynch Him In A Sheer Storm Of Sexual Frenzy Which They Honestly Imagine To Be Moral Indignation, Patriotic Passion Or Some Equally Allowable Emotion, It May Be An Innocent Negro, A Jew Like Leo Frank, A Harmless Half-witted German; A Christ-like Idealist Of The Type Of Debs, An Enthusiastic Reformer Like Emma Goldman.

Love Is A Virtue; It Grows Stronger And Purer And Less Selfish By Applying It To What It Loathes; But Theft Is A Vice Involving The Slave-idea That One's Neighbor Is Superior To Oneself.